Practical Shitticism: Lily Lindon’s UCAS personal statement

Lily Lindon explores the linguistic construction of a UCAS application as she takes a Practical Shit on her own personal statement

Lily Lindon

A true work of artLily Lindon

I speak for everyone when I say that I am fed up with journalism’s sweeping generalisations. We must fight back against navel-gazing, against self-indulgent introspection, and against generally verbose writing on niche and irrelevant issues. Therefore, for this week’s column, I have decided to analyse my own UCAS personal statement from four years ago.

It is only fitting that I treat such a sensitive topic with the formality and dignity that it merits. From henceforth I shall refer to the text as The Personal Statement or ‘the poem’, and I shall refer to myself as ‘the author’ or ‘the humble poet’.

Image of Barret Browning upon getting his first call-up to the major leagues on 30th June 2012The Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Best Poetry, Volume 3, by Various

In her first paragraph (or should I say ‘stanza’?) the poet describes some literature that she has been particularly affected by. She seems determined to break from tradition: her first example is a Shakespearean sonnet on the A-Level curriculum. After her modest understatement suggesting that she had been “reading many critical reviews” to develop her understanding of the Bard, she writes that she had been “moved by the intimacy of “Sonnet 23” by Barret Browning”. Despite clearly being proficient in googling examples of poems, she seems unable to use spell check for famous writer’s names. This is, of course, assuming that she did indeed mean the acclaimed sonnet by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning, starting “Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead / Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?” She might instead mean some hitherto unpublished poem by the American professional baseball pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, Barret Browning.

“The controversial child psychology presented by Lionel Shriver, DBC Pierre, Golding and Mark Haddon has absorbed me, and it will be exciting to see what is explored in the future.”

Well, I think we can all agree that it will be exciting to see what is explored in the future. The deliberate ambiguity about exactly what aspect of ‘the future’ is being referred to here only furthers the sense of intrigue and mystery. Delightful. But this is not the only moment of ambiguity here: although the other three authors in the sentence are generously given their full authorial names, ‘Golding’ seems to only deserve a surname. The casual reader could be forgiven for thinking that this might have been a decision made by the poet to capitalise on the limited word count available in a personal statement. That would be foolish. We must remember the author’s tendency to mispel important people’s names. She is not referring to the controversial child psychology presented by William Golding, but by Ellie Goulding. Think back to when you listened to the song ‘Lights’: “And I think back to when / My brother and my sister slept / In an unlocked place / The only time I feel safe.” The only time any of us feel safe. With controversy like that, who wouldn’t be absorbed?

Author doing a live reading of Lord of the FliesTuomas Vitikainen

The Poet then goes on to a fascinating and insightful comparison of how other A-Level subjects relate to the study of English literature. She writes:

“Our unique location in “1066 country” has engendered an interest in Anglo-Saxon and I have begun using an Anglo-Saxon grammar book.”

I have four important points to make about this sentence.

1. The poet decided to use a thesaurus to find ‘engendered’.

2. The bizarre use of ‘our’ to start this sentence – we are drawn back to looking at it, especially as about 97 per cent of all the other sentences in this solipsistic statement begin with the word ‘I’. Presumably the poet has used the inclusive word ‘our’ to try to invite the reader into a shared locality of time and place. Does it work? I certainly think so. And by ‘I’ I do, of course, mean ‘we’.

3. After being drawn in by ‘our’, it is difficult to progress by more than one word without again stopping in our tracks. ‘Unique’: this is the kind of filler word that travel guides only use when they have been told to use an adjective for everywhere but there is nothing noteworthy they can actually describe.

4. Lastly, it is worth noting the use of the verb ‘using’ to describe the poet’s interaction with the dull Anglo-Saxon grammar book, which ambiguously covers a multitude of sins. In a rather Freudian way it reveals that the poet had only ‘used’ this book to prevent her table from getting stained by tea rings. It was certainly not ever ‘read’, and remains on her table at home as nothing but a lingering manifestation of her shameful ignorance about Anglo-Saxon syntax.

“Her inventive approach to semicolons is particularly interesting”

Obviously I could go on about this complex sentence, but there is not space here to do justice to it. As Lindon writes, “Literature can influence the thoughts, actions and emotions of generations of readers, and my desire to read literature is rooted in the fascination of this power” and this power is clearly evident here.

Despite the poet’s lack of knowledge about Anglo-Saxon grammar, she is clearly an expert on modern English language rules. Her inventive approach to semicolons is particularly interesting. Let us take one of a surprisingly large number of examples: “In Music I have been fascinated by the symbiotic relationship between language and music; in songs, film and theatre.”

Visual reconstruction of Lily Lindon’s feelings while re-reading her personal statementMyrabella

Perhaps she thought that the eloquence demonstrated by the list of three at the end of this sentence superseded any need to have the placement of these words make sense. In approximately the subsequent sentence, the poet astounds us with yet another semicolon: “I am active in school literary groups; the Book Club, Debating Society and run the Play Reading Group.” This stunning display of syntactical virtuosity is as one would expect from an applicant to study English at a prestigious university. One can only wonder how such ‘unique’ writing was left unnoticed by the multiple people that the poet asked to proofread the statement for her. Clearly they were as impressed as I am now.

I would like to conclude on that same parting line that The Poet left us with all those years ago:

“I believe that studying English Literature is integral to developing an understanding of the world and the human condition.”

Having analysed this text with the culmination of techniques that my English Literature degree has given me, I can only say with humble pride that I do now understand the world and the human condition. Thank you, Lily Lindon